


Trust

by sneetchstar



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: F/M, I couldn't let the series end like that, Post-Canon, it's not complete closure but it's something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 04:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11661276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: *Jumps on the post-canon fic bandwagon*  What happens when Rosaline and Benvolio get Escalus inside the palace.





	Trust

As soon as they are inside, Prince Escalus is taken from Rosaline and Benvolio and spirited away; the other two are left standing in the frantic corridor, staring stunned before they follow.

“You cannot enter,” the guard barks at Rosaline when she tries to push inside.

“Escalus!” she yells, desperate, Benvolio’s hand clutched in hers.

“Let them in,” comes a weak reply. The guard steps aside and honestly flinches at the glare Rosaline gives him as they walk past.

“The arrow has pierced his lung,” the court physician says. “He may not survive.”

Isabella comes tearing inside just then, and the room descends into chaos.

Rosaline can no longer get close to Escalus. She gives up, allowing Benvolio to lead her from the chamber.

“We will check back later,” he promises, cautiously wrapping her in his embrace out in the corridor. He is relieved when she melts against him. “There is nothing we will be able to do for him in there.”

“I know,” she whispers. She pulls away and looks at him. “You need a bath.” She wipes at a spot of dirt – or is it blood? – on his face with her thumb.

“We can’t leave the palace,” he says, chuckling in spite of the horrors around them.

“We can still get you cleaned up,” she insists. “Even if I have to draw you a bath myself.”

xXx

It is full night by the time they are able to see the prince again. Benvolio has been provided with a bath and a clean set of clothing (from the palace servants, not Rosaline), and they have even been given rooms since the entire palace has been barricaded.

“Benvolio,” Rosaline says, laying her hand on his arm. “I’d like to talk to the prince alone.”

“Of course,” Benvolio answers. If he is worried about where her heart lies, he isn’t showing it, keeping his face neutral. However, his heart is pounding so hard he would not be surprised if she could hear it.

“Thank you,” she says, briefly considering giving him a kiss to reassure him. Approaching footsteps make her decision for her, so she merely gives his arm a squeeze, then turns away.

“I shall wait here for you,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate.

She smiles and nods, then disappears into the prince’s room.

“Rosaline.” Escalus’ voice is weak, but he is definitely conscious and alert.

They were told he underwent surgery to remove the arrow lodged in his chest and nearly died in the process. But he pulled through and is expected to make a complete, if slow, recovery.

“Escalus,” she replies, approaching his bedside.

“Leave us,” he tells the guards and physician, who protests.

“I will send for you immediately if he needs you,” Rosaline assures him.

“I will be just outside the doors,” the physician curtly replies, then spins away and stalks to the door.

“Rosaline… I’ve been a fool,” Escalus starts, wasting no time. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I can,” she answers, but does not elaborate. She knows he has more to say and will let him say his piece, knowing she deserves every apology she can get from him.

“I was… misguided. I am sorry I only believed you when you were telling me what I wished to hear…” He shakes his head, coughs, then says, “I chose to believe you only when you were forced to lie to me.” He reaches for her hand. “But I tried to make it right. I spared the Montague’s life… for you…”

“No,” she says, pulling her hand away. “You did not spare his life for me. You spared it for yourself. You did not wish to have an innocent man’s death on your conscience, and you thought sparing his life would make me come running back to you.” When he makes no reply, she knows she is right and presses forth. “I accept your apology, but we cannot be what we once were.”

“Rosaline,” he interjects, his voice breaking. “I love you.”

“And I once loved you,” she whispers. “But you have hurt me far too deeply and too often. You manipulated me… you manipulated me _and_ Benvolio Montague, using us as pawns in some cruel game. I said I would forgive you and I do, but I cannot forget what you have done.”

xXx

“This is most improper,” the physician grumbles in the corridor. He is pacing in front of Benvolio, who is leaning against a column.

“The prince is in no condition to do anything improper to Lady Rosaline,” Benvolio comments. “And I know the Lady well. Even if he were not injured, she would never allow any impropriety.” He half-smiles, remembering how she sat with her back turned while he bathed in the inn. He suspects she peeked at him when he exited the tub, but he isn’t completely certain. It is something he intends to ask her one day.

_Perhaps after we are married._

The thought comes out of nowhere and gives him pause. Are they still betrothed? He had become so accustomed to thinking of her as his betrothed, unwilling or not, that it seems odd not to do so anymore.

He looks up and sees the physician giving him a hard look. “You know the Lady  _well_ ?” he asks. “Oh, of course. Your little… flight into the night.” The implication in his voice is plain.

Benvolio straightens up and squares his shoulders. “Lady Rosaline’s virtue is still completely intact. You have my word, Physician.”

The older man stares at him a moment longer, then gives him a short nod. “They have had long enough,” he declares. “I must see to my patient.” He spins away and pushes his way back into the room.

Benvolio can’t help peeking inside the open door.

He sees Rosaline leaning over the bed, kissing Escalus.

With a sigh, he walks away.

xXx

“Benvolio!”

He stops and turns, but does not smile as he sees Rosaline running towards him.

“Capulet,” he coolly greets when she reaches him.

“Why did you not wait for me? You assured me you would,” she says, her face confused and a little hurt.

“I chose not to wait outside while the woman I—while _you_ remained inside, kissing your love,” he answers. It does not come out as venomous as he had hoped. He is more hurt and disappointed than he is angry. He turns and begins walking away.

“I was telling him goodbye,” she says. Her voice is quiet; she refuses to yell after him. If he wants to hear what she has to say, he will come back.

He does.

“I am listening,” he says.

“My lips touched his forehead. Briefly. _After_ I told him he hurt me far too much for us to be what we once were,” she explains. He says nothing, still waiting. “He told me he loves me. I do not love him any more. I told him I once did, but… I am beginning to think I did not. I think I loved the idea of being in love.”

“And now?” Benvolio asks, his voice a whisper.

Rosaline takes a deep breath, then releases it. “Now I believe I am beginning to know what love truly is.” She takes a step closer to him. “It is so much more than… mutual attraction. It is also friendship. And respect. And trust. Above all else, it is trust,” she says, laying a hand on his chest.

“I trust you, Capulet. Above all others, I trust you,” he declares, his hand coming up over hers. He moves her hand so it rests over his heart and presses it close.

“And I trust you, Montague. You are my friend, and I trust you. I respect you. And I _choose_ you,” she replies. “If you still—”

He cuts off her words with his lips, pulling her into another desperate kiss, not caring who sees them. Almost hoping the physician does see them.

“I am so sorry I almost got you executed,” she gasps between kisses. She is vaguely aware of her feet moving, a door opening and closing, and being plunged into semi-darkness.

“They would have found a way even if you hadn’t been manipulated by the count,” he mumbles his reply.

“I promise I will never lie to you again,” she vows, pulling away from him to look him in the eyes while she speaks so he knows she is in earnest.

“I know you will not,” he replies. He kisses her, hard, then pulls away once more to say, “I love you, Rosaline Capulet. Against all reason, I do. I… do not know how or why or even when, and I… do not know much of anything else either, but I _do_ know with all certainty that I love you.”

“And I love you, Benvolio Montague,” she replies, a tear spilling out of the corner of her eye. He gently thumbs it away, then kisses her. “Against all reason, I do,” she echoes, smiling at him.

“I should like to kiss you without tears some time,” he lightly teases, wiping away another tear on her cheek.

She laughs despite herself, despite the war around them, despite their circumstances, then leans in to kiss him some more, freed by the knowledge that he loves her as she loves him.

“So… we are still betrothed then?” he asks, leaning his forehead against hers, feeling light instead of heavy this time.

“Yes,” she answers. “And damn what anyone else thinks about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> TOO MANY LOOSE ENDS


End file.
